User blog:CuteLunaMoon/Chapter 6: Good blood
Journal of viscount Frederick IV Albert Von Mauve. Walking amidst the foggy alleys of the Western Wards, some time we stop to avoid a hunting party, some time, a wandering scourge beast. Half an hour has passed and the girls, visibly soaked in sweat, and have gotten much tired. " We'are almost there" I whisper. " I think we could take shelter at Hunter's Stop. Lady Luck has been smiling upon us as we crossed the town square without any trouble, save for the rancid stench came from the burning corpses. And I even find a hunting rifle on the corpse heap of a group of huntsmen. Soon, we are at Hunter's Stop front door, and I give it three long knocks. " Good hunting, mate. We're all fine in here. Nobody's sick, not even a sniff of a cold. Don't you worry about us at all... Good hunting, mate." The Inn Keeper answer. " It's me. The noble you served in the afternoon. I need your help!" I tell him. There's a little pause, then, comes a long sign. I hear his footsteps come closer towards the front door. " What did I told you? I won't open this door. We all know only the sickos come to this city! I.. I can't help you. Wait, who'are those woman and children?" He asks while observing us through the peephole. " They are outsiders like me. We were pursued by the mob. You gotta help us. Think of the children" I usher " And here's five shillings. That's all I've got right now." I wave five silver Shillings Old British unit of currency. 1 Shilling = 12 pence (or pennies). 1 penny = 2 halfpence. In the 1700s, 1 penny can buy a hefty loaf of bread in front of the peephole. From the conversation earlier, I knew the Innkeeper was a typical person whose eyes alight with greed. I hear he whispers in German with someone else inside, perhaps his old wife. And after a few minutes, he signs again, and replies to us: "Alright, es ist schon spät. We will let the girls stay. And please be quiet." The innkeeper instructs. We hurry to the Inn back and soon, the innkeeper opens the stable door for us. He carries a hooded lantern in one hand and a classic burst shotgun in another. I'm quite surprised when my hideous outlook right now doesn't frighten him. I nod at Catherine and she ushers the kids to move inside. " Here's five Shillings as I promised" I toss my wallet to the Inn Keeper and about to walk away. " It didn't take long for yer to turn native, mein herr. And I have been living here for decades, I have seen worse..." He tosses the wallet back after taking out only five pences " Three pences for one night with breakfast in the morning, and an extra tuppence Old British unit of currency. A Tupence= two pennies if yer brings along children. Ich bin kein räuber, junger Herr(German) "I'm not a robber, young sir" " The Innkeeper talks as he is about closes the stabble heavy door. "Wait! What has happened to this city? I have heard of werewolf hunt in my hometown, but this is just... unimaginable." I ask. "At times, there’s a bad disease endemic at this town. The disease of the beast-possessed. That’s why there are beast-huntings once the disease becomes endemic... Möge das gute Blut deinen weg führen, gute jäger. German "May the good Blood guide your way, good hunter"" The Innkeeper replies and shuts the door. As the dim light from his hooded lantern grows weaker, I walk away into the shadow and feel a little warm in my heart. So there're still good chaps here, in this city of doom and despair. And I feel a little bad for misjudging the gentlemen. Perhaps, the people of the lower class aren't that bad. But at the same time, the fact that I have been infected wears my heart down. How could it happen to me? Perhaps, yes, a ravaging disease needs a holy remedy: Blood of a sage... or some say Pale blood. My first blood transfusion did make me feel much better than most remedies I had have in Nottingharm. But first, I need to go back to the Hunter's Dream. There are unmistakably moving torch lights ahead amidst the hazy veil of fog. I see a dark alley to my left side and decide to take a detour. But it's not a wise choice when I perceive that, toward the northern end of the alley, there is a dozen of scourge beasts gnawing on the corpses of a hunting party. And alas, when I glance back, the hunting party I saw earlier are a few yards behind me. " Over here, lad." Comes a voice from somewhere near and I notice a rope descends from a slightly ajar window. Without further delay, I grab my only chance to esape and begin to climb. When I'm at about two feet away from the window, a strong, furry hand reaches out and grabs my back. The unknown man then pulls me inside, as easy as if I'm a pillow to him. " Are you that hunter? ...WeII, well. A hunter is it?" The man asks. And he introduces himself as father Gascoigne, an old hunter. His cloak is stink of blood and beast and is covered in excess blood and viscera. Like most huntsmen around, he covers his eyes with a bandage. I thank him for his aid and soon, the below ground become a battlefield. The scream of folks, the gunfire and the snarl of beasts soon echoes the dark alley. Gascoigne observes the fight below with a grin on his face and says: "Tonight, there's something different in the air... Men leave as hunters, and return as beasts." We wait a few more minutes until the fight has reached its climax. Gascoigne takes out his firearms and nods at me. Then, from above, we empty our guns on the mishappen fighters below. He then extends his Hunter Axe and enters the fray with me follow his every movement. We dispatch the half-transformed huntsmen and the beast alike efortlessly, but honestly speaking, mostly thanks to Gascoign unspeakable strength and fury. " ...Let there be no doubt. If it moves, you can be sure it's a beast. ...And even if it doesn't, well, don't take any chances! Ha ha ha ha ha hah!" He laughs as he slices a huntsman in half with a mighty ground slam. Not long after, most of the hunstmen have been either mauled by the beasts or gutted out by Gascoign and there were only two werewolves are still capable of standing, albeit with much difficulty due to their numerous wounds. The old hunter Gascoigne soon make short work of them and proceed butchering them into pieces. Seeing what he does, I doubt who is the real monster here. " They are dead already, mister." "...Oooh, beasts and beasts and beasts and beasts..." He ignores me and starts to dismember the huntsmen. I pick up a torch then walk closer only to be terrified to see his hands have grown even larger than before and his facial hair has covered a large part of his face. He is, no doubt, infected, too. The light of the torch undoubtedly makes he feels uneasy as he grunts and swats it aside. He stands up and turns his back on me, perhaps to hide his prematurely transformed face and shield himself from the torchlight. "The reek of blood. That intolerable scent. It sickens me." He exclaims. As I have also started to transform, I understand his thirst for blood and all of this frenziness. " I have heard of the Healing Church miraculous blood. Perhaps they could help us." " I doubt that. But, I'll show you the way." Gascoigne replies and leads the way. After a few more little struggles, we soon find ourselves atop a large stone brigde. " The Great Bridge, and on the otherside, the Cathedral Ward. They locked this gate long ago. But I know a way to get in." Gascoigne points his finger at the big gate of the ward. Walking past several destroyed, weather-worn wagons and eerie-lloking statues, we find ourselves at the gate. But just before I can revel, from above, comes teh most hideous howl of a gigantic, inhuman beast. The monster jumps and stomps the brigde with a quaking shockwave. I cough and try to shield my face from the dust and flying debris. " A cleric beast," Gascoigne says and extends his axe. Reference Category:Blog posts